


A Teacher Thing

by theplacewhere



Series: Teacher Thing [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Schmoop, Teacher Derek Hale, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher/Student Roleplay, a tiny hint of D/S, at the end, more like an inkling really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplacewhere/pseuds/theplacewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So that's what it is," said Derek. "You have a teacher thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Teacher Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long! I have to go hide my head in shame after posting this over a month later than I said I would. Come berate me for my tardiness on [tumblr](http://glowcloudforprez.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also, there is a short [prequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/909047) to this. You can probably tell what's happening without it, but it provides a flimsy amount of justification as to why Derek's a teacher. So depending on the realism you require in your werewolf teacher/student porn, you might want to read it.

"And that's everything for today. Mrs. Masley should be back in a few days, so you guys aren't stuck with me for much longer." Derek smiled at the enraptured junior AP Calculus class, and they all swooned back at him. Stiles could see Alexa Garcia over in the corner licking her lips and trying to make eye contact with Derek, and Greg Freeman, captain of the swim team, fluttering his eyelashes. Stiles was disgusted (not jealous, definitely not jealous) watching everyone freak out over Derek. Watching his classmates fawn was still better than having to actually watch Derek, especially when he started smiling.

"So you can all work on tonight's homework until the bell. Have a good weekend everyone. Oh, and Mr. Stilinski, would you please stay after class?"

Stiles nodded without looking up, ignoring the murmurs of his classmates. The rogue omega they were trying to catch was proving more challenging than anyone had anticipated, and Derek probably needed Stiles and Lydia to try out a spell or something. At this point, Stiles would shift the space time continuum if it meant getting Derek out of the classroom and back into his surly, unsmiling self. Mrs. Masley was almost seventy years old and smelled like artichoke. She was perfect. Derek, on the other hand, was slowly killing Stiles.

The first day Derek had subbed for Stiles' calc class, Stiles had gone to the nurse and complained of a terrible migraine that miraculously vanished at the end of class bell. The second day, Stiles had run away and sat in his car for 55 minutes until class ended.

Of course Derek, with his freaky werewolf senses, had figured out where Stiles was and texted him to ask what was wrong. Stiles had come up with some bullshit story about a panic attack and needing to be alone. And yes, OK, he felt like a complete jackass for using a serious problem as an excuse and lying to someone who trusted him. These were desperate times.

Stiles was not incompetent. He could change a tire, fire a gun, beat a werewolf in a fight, and occasionally bend the laws of the universe by thinking about it really hard. One thing Stiles could not do, however, was deal with Derek Hale in a suit.

Today was the worst yet. Derek was wearing a white button up, but had abandoned his jacket hours ago. He was wearing thick plastic glasses, which seemed really unnecessary considering werewolves were supposed to be the picture of health. Werewolfitude could cure Scott's asthma, but Derek didn't have 20/20 vision? Stiles suspected some sort of conspiracy between the random omega who chose to hang out at high schools, Derek, and probably Lydia because that sounded like something she’d do.

When Stiles had shared this theory with Lydia, she had only given him her patented, "you are an ant and I am a queen" glare and asked him what, exactly, he thought anyone would hope to achieve by conspiring against him. He was still a little fuzzy on that part, but putting Derek Hale in glasses and ass-hugging dress pants had to be intentional.

Finally the bell rang to end Calculus, and Stiles looked down at his page of notes. It contained a few halfheartedly drawn graphs and many, many curse words. Most were choice descriptions of Derek, but some were self directed. Stiles was supposed to have self control, God damn it.

Lydia and Stiles gathered up their stuff with the rest of the class. Alexa Garcia stopped by Derek's desk on the way out and tried to talk to him about getting some help after school with the homework. According to Lydia, she'd done the same thing every day since Derek arrived. Stiles expected Derek to scowl or growl or something, but instead he very politely told Lisa that he wasn't available and she could seek tutoring from the math honor society in the library. How did he even know that? Stiles barely knew that, and he was pretty sure he was in the math honor society.

Lydia pinched Stiles on the fleshy inner part of his arm on her way out, a silent reminder to get his shit together and not stand there gawking at Derek all day. Lydia was a vicious, cruel person, but she was helpful when she wanted to be; it was why Stiles loved her so much. Well it was that, and her complete unwillingness to put up with his shit.

"So what's up?" Stiles asked as soon as the room was clear of students. He fingered the strap on his backpack, picking up the last of his papers and books instead of making eye contact. "Need a spell, charm, or act of belief? Or do you need to talk to me about my latest test grade?"

Stiles' joke fell flat, which wasn't that surprising considering how hard he was trying not to look at Derek. Derek, who was currently lounging in his chair behind his- no, Mrs. Masley's desk.

"Actually," said Derek, steepling his fingers on top of the desk, "I was hoping you would tell me what was wrong." There were papers and lesson plans everywhere, messier than it usually was. Stiles imagined Derek sweeping everything off the desk in one move and practically throwing Stiles on top of it.

Derek waited, silent and unmoving, while Stiles played with the strap on his backpack and scratched the back of his neck. It was his biggest tell. Derek knew that, of course. It wasn't like subtlety had ever been Stiles strong suit. Stiles opened his mouth, wondering if he could get away with a half lie about being worried about the omega, or stressing over school. Derek just sat, totally comfortable in his desk chair, as if his tie wasn't askew and his shirt wasn't wrinkled from the long day of classes.

Derek didn't smile. He didn't ask if anyone had questions, or give the class free time. This Derek was not substitute teacher Mr. Hale. This was Derek Hale, born werewolf and co alpha of the Beacon Hills pack. This was a predator with its eyes locked on Stiles.

Damn Derek for somehow managing to make the teacher fantasy even hotter in person than in Stiles’ imagination.

"Stiles," said Derek, all of the alpha slipping away from him in one fell swoop. "I'm worried about you. Scott is worried about you. In fact, the only person who doesn't seem to be worried about you is Lydia, which is the only reason you're talking to me alone right now and not facing an intervention from the whole pack. Just tell me what's going on."

For a second, just one insane second, Stiles was tempted to tell the truth. He could just tell Derek that Alexa Garcia and Greg Freeman weren't the only kids in his Calc class with a stupid crush on the teacher. Of course, Derek would be freaked out. He handled the people like Alexa and Greg well enough, but Stiles wasn't some random junior at Beacon Hills High. He was part of Derek's pack, someone he trusted, someone Derek might even call a friend if threatened with a wolf's bane dipped arrow. (Allison kept a supply handy, for rival wolves and object lessons on just how fragile the pack’s furless members weren't.)

If Stiles admitted his stupid crush to Derek, even if it was just the far too explicit sexual fantasies, Derek would pull away. He wouldn't call Stiles first after Scott when there was pack news to tell, he wouldn't ask Stiles to pull an all nighter with him to do research, he wouldn't toss Stiles the occasional small grin that felt more real than any of the sunny smiles he'd given to the Calc class. Stiles couldn't do that. He couldn't handle being cut out of Derek's life because he couldn't control his hormones.

"It's complicated," said Stiles, staring down at his shoes. He was resolved to handle this like the near adult he was, but it was going to require baby steps.

"Stiles-"

"Wait, OK. I know it's shitty of me not to tell anyone what's going on. It's nothing dangerous, and it's not a threat to the pack. It's just something I'm dealing with. I'm not going to tell you what it is-" Stiles paused for a second, expecting Derek to butt in and demand the truth. Even though Stiles could feel Derek's glare like a bad sunburn, Derek didn't make a sound. He really was growing as a person all over the place. Stiles was doomed to be in unrequited lust with Derek forever.

"I will tell you that I'm dealing with it. And I have Lydia to help me. And the second that I feel comfortable talking about it, or need your help, I promise you I'll come to you." Stiles thought he could feel Derek's sigh at those words more than he heard it. At the very top of his field of vision, Stiles could see the Derek shaped blur nod.

Derek shifted in his seat slightly, and Stiles' eyes moved to focus on him of their own accord. He gave up trying to stop them; he was going to have to be able to look at Derek eventually. The problem was that Derek was staring right at Stiles, with his usual gale force intensity. The shifting had been him taking off his glasses, and moving them down to chew on the arm. Derek's tongue peeked out from behind his lips where they were wrapped around the temple of the glasses.

Stiles knew that he wasn't doing it on purpose, because Derek may have known how attractive he was and been able to use it when had to, but in private Derek never thought about flirting. So when he wrapped his plush, soft lips around the tip of his glasses arm and reached his tongue out to absentmindedly lick at them, Stiles knew it was a tick and not a seduction. That didn't stop the tidal wave of lust rushing through his mind, so strong he thought that it must be visible in his eyes. Stiles shifted his backpack in front of him as quickly as possible to hide the fact that he was half hard from a glance at Derek’s tongue.

Derek's head snapped up, mouth dropping open and thrice cursed glasses dropping onto the desk with a thud. His nostrils flared and his eyes, for one second, looked more red than hazel.

"Stiles," said Derek, and Stiles felt the word like a hand running down his spine. His eyes fluttered closed and his head tilted back involuntarily, and Derek made a strangled noise in his throat.

"So that's what it is," said Derek, and Stiles forced his eyes open when he heard Derek shift backward in his seat. He was lounging behind the desk now, legs spread obscenely wide in his slacks. "You have a teacher thing."

Derek sounded smug, which would normally be the point that Stiles started in on a diatribe about breeding dingoes or the ill treatment of native peoples in the Americas that inevitably led back to a reason that Derek shouldn't sound so pleased with himself. At the moment, however, Stiles was firing at all cylinders just to keep breathing without starting to whimper.

"So," Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest. Posing like that in the chair was unfair for many reasons, including Derek's corded arms, his tree trunk sized thighs, and that stupid smirk.

"So?" said Stiles, managing to roll his eyes. It wasn't at all convincing, even to himself, but Stiles Stilinski did not stand around and take anyone's shit. Even when his brain was about to explode and his whole life would be following soon after. As soon as Derek stopped grinning and started putting together facts, he would realize Stiles' unfortunate... fixation. As soon as that happened, Stiles was going to lose any trust Derek ever had in him.

"So what exactly does your teacher thing entail?" asked Derek. He rose from his seat, doing some swaying thing with his hips that Stiles had never seen any guy do before. It was mesmerizing. He was fairly certain he'd started drooling sometime around the second step.

"I didn't actually admit to anything, you know." Derek was somehow right there, less than a foot away from Stiles and deep into his personal space. Stiles took an instinctual step back, but he hit the first row of desks. His knees buckled, barely, and before he really knew what was happening he was sprawled out over the top of Alyssa Grant's desk and Derek was standing practically between his legs.

Derek smiled that cocky grin again, which was still infuriating and still unfairly attractive. It pissed Stiles off though, because he knew that look. He'd seen it on Derek before, in the occasional situation when Derek had to go all James Bond on someone to get information or cause a distraction. It was eerily effective on every single person he'd ever tried it on. It was like Derek was above sexuality or preference.

Derek wasn't supposed to smile like that at Stiles, though. He was supposed to give Stiles his exaggerated eye rolls when Stiles said something cutting yet again during a pack meeting. He was supposed to give Stiles a small, genuine grin when he was punch drunk and injured in Stiles' passenger seat on the way home after a fight. He was supposed to give Stiles a concerned, eyebrow heavy scowl when Stiles did something stupid yet again and put himself or the others in danger. He was definitely not, however, supposed to give Stiles that fake ass seduction smile that he used on police officers and magical librarians and fairies and, on one particularly memorable occasion, a witch in the form of a German Shepherd.

With anger pulsing through Stiles' head, the lust could be pushed to the back. He pulled himself up off the desk to his full height, which was, to Derek's eternal shame, about an inch taller than Derek. Stiles expected Derek to back off, to snap out of alpha mode the way he always did after something had unexpectedly dropped him into it. Instead, Derek stayed where he was, which meant that Stiles was putting himself in an even worse position than before.

He was now touching Derek at small points of contact all over, just barely brushing stomachs and wrists and thighs and shoulders. All of these were places Stiles would have sworn were not erogenous zones five minutes ago, but now every single inch of him that was touching Derek was tingling and twisting with pure want.

"Stiles," said Derek, so low it was practically just breath. Their faces were so close that Stiles felt Derek's exhale on his lips. He felt the tingle of blood rushing to his lips like they had been kissed viciously, as well as blood rushing somewhere else much farther south.

"Yeah," said Stiles, faintly annoyed at the breathy sound of his voice. He was fairly certain he was supposed to be angry.

"Tell me about your teacher thing, Stiles. Tell me what you think about.”

Stiles felt his heartbeat speed up, galloping through his chest like it was trying to burst out. Derek had to be able to feel it too, the way their chests were practically touching.

"Derek-"

"Stiles," said Derek, his voice dropping down into an octave Stiles usually only heard during wet dreams.

"Do you think about your teacher asking you to stay after class? Just like I did?" Derek's hands came up to Stiles hips, taking hold and grasping tight. Stiles felt Derek's blunt human nails dig into the meat of his hips, so hard that he was going to leave a bruise if he kept up.

"Yeah," said Stiles, when Derek just waited for a response.

"What happens then?" asked Derek. Stiles licked his lips. One of Derek's hands came up to trace his bottom lip, pulling it down with one finger before releasing it.

"You ask me to stay after class, and then-" Stiles could see it in his head, vivid and real. Derek telling him that he knew how Stiles looked at him, that it was inappropriate for Stiles to look at a teacher that way. Telling him that he was going to have to fail Stiles if he kept staring at Derek instead of doing his school work.

"Then?" prompted Derek. He was completely plastered against Stiles now, and Stiles wasn't entirely sure when that had happened. Stiles had been on edge all class but now it was ridiculous. He was painfully hard, just from Derek's voice and proximity and the way he was pushing one of his thick thighs between Stiles legs and just holding it there.

"Then you say you're going to fail me, because I'm not doing my work." Derek chuckles, tucking his head into Stiles neck for a second and biting there quickly before laving his tongue over the spot.

"That's actually true," said Derek. "You haven't come to class in days, or done homework. I'm willing to bet you didn't understand a word of today's lecture, either." Derek bit at the same spot on Stiles' neck again, soothing it with tongue after. Stiles felt his head fall to the side and a short, cut off whimper escape his throat.

"So let me guess what happens next," said Derek, stroking a hand up and down Stiles arm hypnotically. "You tell me you don't want to fail. You tell me you'll do anything to pass the class."

Stiles nodded. His fantasies got pretty elaborate sometimes, but that was the basic version.

"I tell you that I don’t just need to pass. I need an A."

"An A," said Derek. His eyebrows rose, and a predatory smile made its way onto his face. "You're very far from an A, Mr. Stilinski. There's no way you're going to bring your grade up that far before the year is over."

Derek was still teasing Stiles with minimal points of contact, except where his hands were digging into Stiles' waist. They were as close as two people could be without one person being inside the other, and that led Stiles mind to the next part of his usual fantasy.

"I would-" said Stiles, slipping into the mindset he always felt when he played this out in his head. He was a little nervous, a little scared, but determined. He needed that A. "I would do anything, Mr. Hale. Anything at all."

Stiles knew that the dialogue of his little fantasy was straight out of a bad porno, but it had never mattered before because it got him off and no one else knew about it. Now the painfully cliché words made Stiles blush, but Derek groaned and thrust forward like he couldn't help it. Stiles felt his own body move in response, trying to set up a rhythm for their hips. Derek allowed it, shifting his hands to Stiles ass and moving him to Derek's tempo.

"Stiles," said Derek, the word almost obscured in a moan. Stiles didn't know how to use words anymore, not with Derek's hands spanning the entire length of his ass and the cut of Derek's hip providing sweet, sweet pressure for his dick. Stiles tried to respond anyway, leaning forward to suck a hickey behind Derek's ear.

"Stiles," said Derek again, more clearly this time. He moved his hands back to Stiles waist and tried to still their movement. Stiles whined at the loss of friction and redoubled his efforts at Derek's neck.

"Mr. Stilinski." Derek slipping into teacher mode caused Stiles to unintentionally thrust forward. He buried his head in Derek's neck, breathing in the unadulterated smell of pure Derek. Werewolves didn't wear cologne, couldn't even handle most scented body washes or lotions. They had to smell like themselves or it made them restless. This particular feature of werewolfism had cured Scott of his Axe addiction, for which Stiles would forever be grateful, but it also meant Stiles had to admit that Derek's amazing leather and pine smell was 100% natural. It was just one more aspect of life in which Derek was perfect; Stiles hated him for it.

Derek reached up and grabbed a hold of Stiles' hair, yanking his head back and baring his neck to Derek.

"Mr. Stilinski, if I wanted to fumble and hump like a teenager I would. I have some very different-" Derek paused, a smirk forming on his face that wasn't substitute teacher Derek or alpha Derek or real Derek, but some new creature. This was Mr. Hale. This was Stiles' fantasy in the flesh.

"I have some very different extra credit in mind for you," Derek finished. Stiles neck was taut, his hair still firmly in Derek's grip. Derek yanked a little harder, and Stiles' eyes fluttered closed. Derek tapped his eyelids, first the right and then the left. Stiles obediently opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly to try to focus on Derek.

"Don't you want to know what you're going to have to do for your A?" asked Derek, bringing his other hand up to stroke up and down Stiles' neck with a feather light touch.

"What am I going to have to do for my A?" Stiles swallowed hard, watching Derek watch the movement of his Adam’s apple.

Derek grinned, bringing his hand up from Stiles' neck to trace his lips. Slowly but inexorably, Derek used his grip in Stiles' hair to force Stiles to his knees. The floor of the classroom was hard and cold, the tile a shock to Stiles' system after being pressed up against Derek for so long. Derek left a hand in his hair. He loosened his grip enough for Stiles to breathe easily, but not so much that Stiles could forget who was holding him there.

Derek's other hand just kept tracing over Stiles mouth, the soft pads of his fingers catching on Stiles' chapped lips. Derek kept him there, one hand holding him in place and the other just brushing over his lips over and over. Derek's eyes softened after a few moments, and Stiles remembered that this was all just a game. The pounding of his heart, the nervousness racing through his veins, it was all pretend.

The Derek who grabbed him by the hair was the same Derek who adamantly denied being the one who ate Stiles' hot pocket at the last pack meeting. The Derek who was tracing the curve of his lips was the same Derek who saved Stiles life by pretending to be madly in love with a witch in the shape of a German Shepherd. Derek was safe. Derek was doing this for Stiles.

"Wha- what do you want me to do, sir?" asked Stiles, widening his eyes like he had no idea what someone might do on their knees in front of another person. When he spoke, Derek's thumb slipped into his mouth and Derek kept it there. Stiles curled his tongue around it and watched Derek's eyes go dark.

"Have you ever given a blowjob, Mr. Stilinski?" Stiles shook his head. Derek smirked, dragging Stiles' bottom lip down with the pad of his thumb.

"Have you ever gotten one?" Stiles shook his head again. Derek's nostrils flared, and Stiles realized that Derek thought he would have to lie to answer that question. Derek was just now figuring out exactly how inexperienced Stiles really was, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down. If anything, he looked even more turned on than before.

"Well I'm going to teach you," said Derek, baring his teeth in a smile more like a snarl than any happy expression Stiles had ever seen.

"If you can give me an A+ blowjob, that's what you'll get in the class." Derek pulled Stiles head slowly towards his pants. The line of his cock was unmistakable in his gray dress pants, thick and long and practically bursting the zipper. Derek brought Stiles' face straight to his dick, holding it there and letting Stiles rub his face against it like a cat. Derek's hips jerked foward once, holding Stiles there for friction.

Derek tightened his hold on Stiles and pulled him half up off the floor, unbalancing him so his knees were hovering just above the tile and Derek was supporting all of his weight by the grip on his head. Derek closed the distance between their faces so that he was almost directly above Stiles,

"Remember, Mr. Stilinski. A+ blowjob, A+ in the class. If you fail, however..." Derek grinned and shook his head, letting Stiles figure it out himself. When Derek saw the realization sink in on Stiles' face, he let Stiles' body fall back into a kneeling position. He pulled Stiles toward his dick again, pushing Stiles' face into his crotch with no regard for Stiles' well being or need to breathe.

There was a small wet spot soaking Derek's pants near the tip of his cock. Stiles wanted nothing more than to taste it, to taste all of Derek. Stiles opened his mouth and breathed on Derek’s dick through the fabric. Derek groaned, taking hold of Stiles head with both hands and grinding against Stiles’ face. Stiles’ eyes watered from the way his nose was being crushed and his hair pulled, but his erection didn't seem to have a problem with it.

Derek stilled his hips, momentarily tightening his grip in Stiles hair before loosening it to the point where Stiles barely felt him there.

"I'm waiting, Mr. Stilinski." Stiles looked up from Derek's pants to his eyes, which were a bit glazed but full of challenge. He reached up to unbutton Derek's pants, eager to get a hold of his cock.

"Mr. Stilinski," said Derek, voice sharp. "An A+ student does not rely on their hands. You have a naturally talented mouth. Use it." Stiles froze, hands in the air. He didn't know how to do this. He was never going to be able to get Mr. Hale's pants off without his hands, much less give a good enough blowjob to save his grade. In the back of his head, Stiles knew it wasn’t real. He knew Derek wasn’t going to do anything to him if he failed at this, but he wanted to do well anyway.

Above Stiles, Derek sighed. He petted Stiles head a few times where it was sore from the hair pulling, before lifting up his chin.

"I will help you out, Mr. Stilinski, this one time." Mr. Hale kept petting Stiles' head, which felt nice. "I don't want you fail, Stiles. I want to help you succeed." With that, Mr. Hale unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was thicker than Stiles', and there was no way he was actually going to fit all of that in his mouth. Stiles instinctively brought a hand up to grasp Mr. Hale's cock, but then he remembered the rules. Mr. Hale chuckled.

"Do you want some help, Mr. Stilinski?" Stiles felt his cheeks heat and his heart stutter. Mr. Hale was laughing at him. He was already screwing everything up. "Answer me, Mr. Stilinski," said Mr. Hale, renewing his grip on Stiles' hair.

"I can do it, sir," said Stiles, even though he didn't really know where to go from here. Mr. Hale's cock was sticking out of his underwear, jutting out at a right angle and sort of bobbing in the air.

"How about I tell you what to try," said Mr. Hale, lifting Stiles' head up so he was looking Mr. Hale in the eye. "You've never done his before. I'll teach you." Stiles nodded his OK at that. That wasn't failing, it was learning.

"Good boy," said Mr. Hale, stroking Stiles' cheek. He pulled Stiles back in closer to his cock. "Why don't you start by licking it."

Stiles, eager to obey, reached out his tongue and circled the tip with his tongue. He gave Mr. Hale's cock a few kitten licks, darting around to catch it as it moved in the air. Mr. Hale groaned his approval.

"Here," said Mr. Hale, using one hand to stabilize his cock and the other to guide Stiles' head. "Cover your teeth with your lips. Now you're going to put it in your mouth. Only the first few inches. There you go." The cock tasted like Derek smelled, leather and pine trees and something Stiles couldn't put a name to. Stiles tried to put as much of Mr. Hale's cock into his mouth as he could, letting Mr. Hale control the angle and motion of his head. Before even half of it was in, Stiles gagged at the intrusion. Mr. Hale shushed him, letting go of his cock momentarily to pet Stiles' throat.

"You're doing good, Stiles. You're doing so good." Mr. Hale started moving Stiles' head back and forth, letting his cock slip almost all the way out of Stiles' mouth before plunging it back it. He lined up Stiles' movements and his thrusts, which got bigger and more powerful every time. Stiles felt Mr. Hale's cock slip into his throat for a second before popping back out. Stiles didn't love the feeling, but it made Mr. Hale moan and grip Stiles' hair tighter.

Mr. Hale kept thrusting into Stiles' mouth, changing the angle so that he was popping into Stiles' throat on every other thrust. Stiles' felt tears start to pool in the corner of his eyes and an ache start to build in his throat. Just when it was about to become too much, though, Mr. Hale pulled out of Stiles' mouth completely. A string of mixed saliva and pre-come connected Stiles' lips to Mr. Hale's cock.

Mr. Hale stared down at Stiles, licking his lips. He stripped his cock with one hand while he tilted Stiles' head back with another.

"Close your eyes," said Mr. Hale between pants. He moved his hand over his own cock faster and faster, the purple-red head peeking out from between his fingers every time. Stiles obeyed, closing his eyes just before Mr. Hale froze up with a groan, the hand in Stiles' hair pulling him even farther back. Hot liquid - Mr. Hale's come - splashed onto Stiles' throat. It seemed to go on forever, stream after stream of come splashing up onto his face and trailing down his chest.

Stiles kept his eyes closed and stayed still, listening to Derek’s harsh breathing and feeling his knees go numb from the hard floor. There was a slight rustling and then hands on Stiles’ face. The hands kept moving, running down his neck and across his chest, one stopping to tug his shirt up to his armpits and lightly flick at his nipples and the other travelling down farther. Stiles was so hard he thought he might soon be the first real case of death by blue balls.

When Derek pressed on Stiles’ dick, he couldn’t help the way his hips thrust forward. Derek unzipped Stiles’ pant and pulled him out of his underwear. Stiles shuddered. His eyes were still closed, and his face dropped to Derek’s shoulder. He didn’t think he was going to be able to hold himself up for much longer, especially if Derek kept stroking him like that.

When Derek twisted his thumb over the tip Stiles heard a broken noise that must have come from him. Derek shushed him, moving one hand up to pet Stiles’ head. Derek kept moving, and Stiles’ thrusts got more and more erratic. He bit into the muscle of Derek’s shoulder to stop from screaming. It wasn’t long before Stiles was coming, spilling all over Derek’s hand and both their bodies. Derek kept stroking him until it became too much and Stiles groaned, pulling his hips away.

Stiles knees, in protest of how long he’d been kneeling on the floor, finally gave out. Stiles collapsed against Derek, who somehow transitioned the both of them into a sitting position. Stiles was practically on Derek’s lap.

OK, no, Stiles was actually on Derek’s lap, which he was definitely going to complain about as soon as his knees stopped aching and his brains unscrambled themselves. Derek kept running his hands up and down Stiles sides, however, which felt really nice. Maybe Stiles would allow the lap sitting to continue for a while. It wasn’t like Derek couldn’t take his weight.

“Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles grunted in response, because he wasn’t sure his brain could form words. Derek chuckled and nudged Stiles where Stiles’ head rested on his shoulder.

“Come on, Stiles,” said Derek. “Give me some indication that you’re not brain dead.”

“I am brain dead,” said Stiles, the words muffled because he was basically speaking into Derek’s skin.

Derek chuckled again, more loose and relaxed than his usual too-badass-to-laugh smirk. He kept nudging at Stiles’ head with his shoulder though, so Stiles finally lifted up his head and opened his eyes.

Derek was close, smiling at Stiles and looking far more blissed out than Stiles had seen him since that time that the fairies had dosed everyone the magical equivalent of MDMA. Stiles licked his swollen lips, and tasted Derek’s come. It was salty and bitter, and he had a sudden respect for all the porn stars who let people come in their mouths on a daily basis.

Derek started laughing, which Stiles thought was pretty offensive considering Stiles had just given the guy a blowjob. He batted at Derek, but his arms were heavy and practically useless. Sex was exhausting. Stiles wanted to nap for a month. Which, again, mad respect for porn stars. Stiles considered sending porn stars a fruit basket. There were a lot of them, though, so that plan probably wasn’t feasible.

“Stop laughing at me,” said Stiles, kicking a flailing leg toward Derek where he was now literally lying on the floor laughing. Derek grabbed Stiles’ ankle before it connected, keeping hold of it and rubbing circles into the skin.

“Sorry,” said Derek, trying to calm himself down. “It’s just, your face, God Stiles. Your nose got all scrunched up and you made this face like you wanted to spit it back out but couldn’t.” Derek relapsed into spasms of laughter and Stiles tried to kick Derek again, forgetting that Derek had a hold of his leg.

“ _Your_ face,” said Stiles, which wasn’t a great insult, but, hey, it was the best he could come up with at the moment.

“Sorry,” said Derek, righting himself and scooting closer toward Stiles. He had stopped laughing, though he was still wearing a disturbingly big smile on his face. Stiles grumbled at him some more, but relented when Derek dragged them both down to the ground and let Stiles lay almost completely on top of him.

Soon, they would have to get up. Derek was supposed to be patrolling the school looking for the omega, and Stiles was supposed to be in a class right now. They would need to find clothes to change into so it wouldn’t be totally obvious what they’d been doing, and Stiles would have to find some way to enter this classroom again without replaying this memory over and over.

But at the moment Stiles was playing with one of the buttons on Derek’s shirt, and Derek was running a hand through Stiles’ hair. Stiles’ throat was sore and his knees were probably bruised. His pants and shirt were soaked with his come, and he could feel Derek’s drying sticky and gross on his face. The floor was stiff and freezing cold, but Derek was warm and solid and holding onto him.

“Derek,” said Stiles, poking a finger through Derek’s shirt to stroke his chest once. Derek grunted in response, sounding like he was about to fall asleep.

“I don’t really have a teacher thing. I have a you thing.”

Derek’s fingers froze in Stiles’ hair, and Stiles felt Derek’s whole body tense for a moment before relaxing. He shifted so their heads were almost even and looked Stiles in the eye very seriously.

“Stiles,” said Derek, “I hate to break this to you, but you definitely have a teacher thing.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, smacking Derek’s arm with a sound like a whip. His handprint bloomed red momentarily and then faded, leaving unblemished skin. Derek smiled at him, the soft, personal smile Derek was supposed to give him. He leaned in and kissed Stiles gently.

“I kind of have a you thing, too.”


End file.
